


Improving Home Improvement

by Philipa_Moss



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movie)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:New Year Resolutions 2009, recipient:Ignaz Wisdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philipa_Moss/pseuds/Philipa_Moss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a quiet day at home. So why is there a dead rabbit in the refrigerator?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Improving Home Improvement

  


  
  
  
  
  


  
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## Improving Home Improvement

 

Fandom: [Donald Strachey Mysteries (movie)](http://yuletidetreasure.org/get_fandom_quicksearch.cgi?Fandom=Donald%20Strachey%20Mysteries%20\(movie\))

 

Written for: Ignaz Wisdom in the New Year Resolutions 2009 Challenge

by [Philipa Moss](http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/cgi-bin/contact.cgi?filename=86/improvinghome)

The waffle smell only barely covered the other smell: the smell of a dead ten-  
pound long-haired rabbit wrapped in two plastic bags, aluminum foil, a garbage bag   
taped shut, and finally another plastic bag and deposited in the refrigerator. Although the   
smell was roughly confined to the second shelf from the top, a wave of it hit Timmy   
Callahan as he reached for the orange juice. He wrinkled his nose, grabbed the orange   
juice, and shut the door quickly.

While pouring the orange juice into their glasses, Timmy cleared his throat   
significantly and shot a glance at the back of his partner's head. Donald Strachey was   
watching the waffle iron, but he stiffened and half turned around. "You're glaring at me   
behind my back again."

"Yes," said Timmy. "Thank you for noticing."

"It's a little creepy that I DO notice," said Donald, "it being behind my back and   
all."

"We're finely attuned," said Timmy. "What's that smell in the refrigerator?"

Uh-oh, thought Donald. "It's evidence," he said, and quickly turned to take the   
waffle out and turn the iron off.

"Evidence," repeated Timmy, sitting down.

"Yeah," said Donald, carrying the plate of waffles over and setting it down. He   
sat down next to Timmy. "The Kingsley murder case. He shot that rabbit the same way   
he shot his wife. Practice."

Timmy froze with a glass of orange juice halfway to his mouth. "You mean that's   
a dead rabbit in there?"

Donald looked down at his breakfast. "Yeah. It's evidence, it's---"

Timmy put down the orange juice and held up his hands. "I understand. But   
what's it doing in our refrigerator?"

"The refrigerator at the office is busted. Kenny tried to charge all his stuff---his   
iPod, his cell, and batteries and stuff---at the same socket and the refrigerator and   
everything got fried."

Timmy poured maple syrup over his waffles. "Got it. Although if it's evidence,   
why don't the police have it?"

"Bub said it was irrelevant, wouldn't stand up in court, whatever. I plan to use it   
to freak the guy out. Leave it on his doorstep or something. Unnerve him enough so that   
when I come at him it'll be like opening Pringles."

Timmy raised an eyebrow. "Once you pop you just can't stop?"

"I need to work on it, okay? It sounded more Sam Spade-y in my head."

Timmy chuckled. "I don't think Sam Spade ate Pringles."

Donald relaxed at the sound of Timmy's chuckle and reached for the syrup. "Oh   
just eat your waffles, schweethaaahrt," he said in his Humphrey Bogart voice.

They ate in silence for a while. Donald finished his waffles and started scraping   
his plate to trap the leftover syrup on his fork.

"My mother called two days ago," said Timmy. "She wants us to have   
Thanksgiving with her and Dad."

Donald's jaw dropped. "Does your dad know?"

"Well I can only guess that he does. Otherwise it'll be hard to explain buying all   
that extra food before the fact."

"Maybe they're not going to feed us. Maybe they're going to sit us down and   
make us watch Republican recruitment videos."

"Republican recruitment videos?" Timmy smiled.

"You're right. That's too high-tech. It'll probably be Republican recruiting LPs."

Timmy laughed again, but it didn't last long, and when it was over he sat staring   
at his food.

"Honey?" Donald poked his waffle. "Honey? Hey. Is it burnt?"

"It's fine," said Timmy softly. "I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought I was."

"That's okay," said Donald. "Both of our days off coincide, so food is not what   
I'm in the mood for anyway." He picked up their plates and took them over to the   
opposite counter, but turned around when Timmy didn't respond to find him sitting in the   
same way, arms folded over his chest, slightly hunched over. "Hey." Donald came   
around the counter and pulled Timmy to his chest, arms curling around him tightly.   
"What's wrong?"

Timmy turned partially on his stool and kissed Donald quickly on the mouth.   
"Let's build a cocoon," he said. "Let's get in bed and stay there for the rest of the day."

Donald squeezed Timmy's shoulders. "Fine by me. IF you promise to tell me   
what's eating you."

Timmy nodded.

"And IF," Donald continued, "I can keep the rabbit in the refrigerator, at least   
until tomorrow."

"Hmm," said Timmy. "Getting me to agree to that may take an awful lot of   
persuading."

"Well I guess I'm in luck," said Donald, tugging Timmy's arm and leading him   
upstairs, "because I've been told I'm awfully good at that."

They didn't make it to the bed. In the hallway Timmy, trailing behind Donald,   
decided to take matters into his own hands and quickly and efficiently pantsed him.

Donald pitched forward and planted his face in the wall-to-wall carpeting. Timmy   
pulled his pants off the rest of the way and rolled him over. "Aggressive, much?" asked   
Donald playfully. "You gave me rug burn."

"I'm gonna give you more than that," said Timmy. He crawled forward until they   
were nose to nose and kissed Donald hungrily. "More than that."

Donald pushed him back, sitting up. "Are you crying?"

Timmy rocked back on his knees. He looked surprised. "No." He touched his   
face. "Yes. Yes, apparently."

"Is this because of the rabbit?" asked Donald gently, kneeling opposite Timmy   
and taking his hands. "I can put it outside and---"

Timmy laughed wetly. He still hadn't quite realized that he was crying, and the   
resulting look on his face was difficult to describe. "It's not the rabbit." He touched his   
face again. "Well, this is perfect."

"It's something to do with your father?" asked Donald.

"Yes," said Timmy. "Yes."

"You've gotta give me more than that," said Donald. "I'm a detective. I'll get it   
out of you anyway."

"We should get rid of the rabbit," said Timmy, standing up abruptly and walking   
downstairs.

Donald tried to follow him, tripped on his pants, pulled them on and up and   
hurriedly buckled his belt again before following Timmy. "This is not the Sunday   
morning I was envisioning," he called after Timmy into the kitchen.

"Me either," said Timmy, hauling the bundle out of the fridge, and closing it with   
a hip-nudge. "Get the door for me?"

Donald walked through to the back of the house and opened the sliding glass   
door, moving aside to let Timmy through. "Just stick it on the deck or---" Timmy walked   
off the deck, "---or on the grass or---" Timmy strode across the garden and set the bundle   
against the back fence, "---or against the fence. That's good."

On his way back across the lawn, Timmy stopped and looked down at the ground   
and frowned.

"What is it?" called Donald.

"I missed a spot mowing the lawn. It's all scraggly."

"Which is why," said Donald, sliding the door shut behind him, "you should let   
me do it. I'll whip that grass into shape."

"I can fix it now," said Timmy. "It's not that bad." He moved to walk toward the   
garage.

In a flash, Donald was across the lawn and then on the ground, pulling Timmy   
with him, straddling him, preventing him from moving by holding his wrists to the   
ground.

"What---" Timmy began. Their mouths were so close together; Donald couldn't   
see Timmy form the words. He could feel them, though, a vibration from between them.

"Listen," Donald said. "Just listen. You gave me some rug burn back there. I'm   
giving you grass stain. I'm sorry if it doesn't wash out. I'll buy you knew pants. A new   
shirt. Whatever. Just listen to me. I need to know what's wrong. Then we can do as many   
home improvements as you want. We can do whatever you want. I'll go whatever you   
want, because I love you, but I need to know what's wrong."

"Okay," said Timmy.

"I'm not moving," said Donald.

"Okay," said Timmy.

They stayed that way for a while. Donald relaxed his grip, but didn't let go.   
Timmy separated his legs and Donald fell between them comfortably, familiarly. An   
airplane hummed by overhead. In the house, Dr. Watson started barking.

"Dad called too. Three hours after Mom. He waited for her to leave to go   
shopping and then he called and told me to come up with some excuse why we couldn't   
come over for Thanksgiving. Then he hung up. No explanation."

Donald let go, but neither of them moved. "I guess," said Donald, "that 'I'm an   
asshole' was the implied explanation."

"I guess," said Timmy, "'twas ever thus, or something like that." He exhaled.   
"Sorry," he said, "waffle breath."

"I like your waffle breath," said Donald.

"I love you," said Timmy.

"I love you too," said Donald.

They kissed, slowly at first but then Timmy gripped the back of Donald's head.   
That went on for a while before they were forced to take a break ("I'm not properly   
hydrated for this," said Timmy).

Donald rolled off him. "We can just lay here, then."

They did. Another airplane passed over. This one left a contrail that got fatter as it   
dissipated.

"It's not a big deal about Thanksgiving," said Timmy. "I don't know why I cried.   
It felt almost involuntary."

"It is a big deal," said Donald. "Should we go anyway, just to bug him?"

Timmy appeared to consider it for a moment. Then, "No," he said. "No. It's   
Thanksgiving. I'd rather enjoy it. I'd rather spend it here, together."

"Right here?" asked Donald. "Right here on this spot?"

"If you want," said Timmy. "But I might be cold."

"There are ways to warm up," said Donald.

"Oh?"

"Yes."

"Good to know."

"Wanna try some?"

"Well, if I must I must."

"We can get hydrated first."

"A shower, maybe?"

"I like the way you think."

And they went back inside. Just in time, too, because the rabbit was starting to   
stink up the yard.

This time they made it up the stairs.

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